Dabbles in Danger: Sherlock and Moriarty One-Shot Collection
by Jay'sWings
Summary: A collection of one-shots revolving around Sherlock and Moriarty, with a wide range of possibilities, because there's more to these two ignorant geniuses that meets the eye. Relationships between the two vary from enemies to friends to even more than friends depending on the one-shot. Rated T for now, rating might go up.
1. Full Circle

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this! Sherlock and all ideas pertaining to it are not my property and are the property of the rightful and respected owners of the Sherlock enterprise! Enjoy!

So as stated, these will be a collection of Sherlock and Moriarty one-shots unless otherwise stated, most if not all of which casting Sherlock and Moriarty in a friendly (possibly more than friendly) light, because I firmly believe that if they weren't too busy trying to destroy each other, Sherlock and Moriarty would actually be good friends, if not more.

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**Summary:** Sherlock sees Moriarty for the first time after The Fall in a surprising scenario.

**S/M Pairing:**Almost friends

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**Full Circle**

It had been years since Sherlock had seen Moriarty. Almost a decade even. To the consulting detective, his greatest adversary had become just another memory. Another location, in Sherlock's mind palace, tucked away until the man ever decided to think about the world's greatest consulting criminal. It had been so long that Moriarty seemed almost like a dream; a period in Sherlock's life that was as unreal as it was real. Yes, Sherlock hadn't seen Moriarty in a long time.

That didn't mean, however, that Sherlock didn't think about his only challenge often.

Of course others in past years had tried to replicate Jim Moriarty's web that Sherlock had delicately destroyed, but it was useless. The precarious game created by Moriarty and Sherlock didn't survive for long, because it wasn't designed to. Sherlock and Moriarty weren't designed to coexist with each other; it was against their nature. The consulting detective was always trying to show his skills, while the consulting criminal was always ready to take him down a notch. Not only this, but the roles of the two were never concrete. Some days Moriarty would remind Sherlock of his weaknesses, other times Sherlock would crack Jim's impenetrable armor. A constant game of cat and mouse, with no determined victor because there were no determined sides to begin with.

Except, in the end, there was a victor. In the end, Moriarty was lying in a pool of his own blood, and Sherlock was left on the rooftop, with a plan already in place. After the fall and several painful months, Sherlock had returned to life, or at least, the life he was known to live. Coming back hadn't been necessarily easy, but Moriarty had never made anything easy. Still, Sherlock had managed to beat the madman's game and make it out with his life. And going through Jim's final challenge, the Reichenbach Fall as Sherlock called it, made Sherlock realize a lot of important things, with one major epiphany overshadowing them all.

John and Sherlock's wedding followed rather quickly after the detective's return. Part of that was because neither of the two wanted to wait any longer, and part of it was John's worry that Sherlock was going to somehow have to leave again, and the doctor would be forced to plunge yet again into a world of boredom. Although Sherlock constantly assured the good doctor this wasn't the case, in the end, John wouldn't hear it. Dates were planned, tuxedoes were bought, and even catering was ordered. They had their wedding only three months after Sherlock came back.

Everyone came too; Lestrade, Irene, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Dimmock, Henry, even Donovan and Anderson, and for once they behaved. There weren't many guests on John's side, but John's sister Harry did come with her girlfriend, and she didn't drink at the reception, so John was happy about that. The whole night Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off of his husband, and was pleased that John was struggling to entertain everyone when it was obvious that all the doctor wanted to do was get Sherlock alone. Yes, their wedding night was one of the happiest nights of Sherlock's life.

Hamish came a year later.

Sherlock Holmes had only been proven wrong twice, and both times it was in the same area, so maybe it only counted as one wrong. A long, long time ago, the man believed he could love no one; that his work was his love and that was it. He was first proven wrong by John, who showed him that there was more to life than puzzles and riddles and deductions. The second time Sherlock was proven wrong was by his son, Hamish, a boy whose life Sherlock suddenly revolved around, when it wasn't revolving around John. Hamish had Sherlock's messy jet black hair, but John's warm brown eyes. The boy was built like Sherlock, long and tall, but had an air similar to his other father; calm yet fierce. Now, at seven, Hamish was beginning to develop an intellect resembling Sherlock's, but still had the compassion of John to couple with his knowledge and reasoning skills.

This was who Sherlock was waiting for on the cool autumn day; the first of many. It was the first day of Hamish's school year, and since John was working at the hospital, Sherlock was picking his son up that day. He stood beneath an oak tree, scanning the building, eyeing areas that needed maintenance and places where kids could potentially be in danger. The detective's eye for detail proved to make him a very vigilant parent, or in John's words, paranoid.

The school bell rang with a shrillness that reminded Sherlock of his own childhood, but the man brushed the memories aside as he now looked at the school doors being pushed open by the mass of children. Quickly searching the mass, Sherlock began to grow worried when he didn't see his son. His fears were soon calmed, however, when he saw Hamish walking out leisurely next to a rather short child with a babyish face and short black hair. The two were talking intently, but Hamish still gave his father a wave when he eyed him standing by the tree. His son then turned to his friend, and waving goodbye, bounded down the steps toward his father, nearly falling down them in the process. Sherlock watched, a small smile on his lips, as he opened his arms for Hamish, who jumped right into them.

"Daddy! Daddy! School was so fun! We did so many things and I've got lots to show you!" Hamish's squeals of excitement were music to Sherlock's ears, and the detective's tight-lipped smile broke into a hearty grin.

"I'm glad you had fun, Hamish," Sherlock said gently to his son. "You weren't bored, were you?"

"Oh no!" Hamish replied fervently, looking up to his father with his big brown eyes. "Whenever the teacher had to help someone or do something, I talked to Richard. He's really smart, just like me." Sherlock eyed the boy Hamish had walked out with, who was now sitting on the steps, rather sadly, waiting for his ride to come.

"Is Richard nice to you?" Sherlock asked. Hamish nodded and looked back to see Richard sitting, waving when the other boy saw him from the steps and waved his hand. Sherlock looked around to see if anyone was coming, worrying when he didn't see anything. While this school was generally safe, he knew the dangers that hid everywhere and he didn't like the idea of Hamish's friend waiting alone.

Richard was not waiting for long however, because only seconds later a sleek black car pulled up next to the school. Seeing this, the detective then took Hamish's hand in his own and began to walk away.

"Bye Richard!" Hamish shouted. Sherlock turned around one last time to wave goodbye himself, when he stopped short. Richard was smiling, shouting goodbye, but next to him, next to him...

"That's Richard's dad, one of them anyway. Richard said he had two dads, just like me! Jim and Sebastian, that's their names," Hamish explained to his father, but Sherlock was worlds away. He was lost in the eyes of Jim Moriarty, those eyes who he knew only to hold malice and insanity, now holding a glint of mischief but also understanding. Sherlock was taken back to the rooftop of St. Barts, with Moriarty dangling his friends' lives in front of him, forcing Sherlock to commit suicide after the criminal shot himself. The consulting criminal's words ran through his head.

"_Staying alive. It's so boring isn't it."_

"_I told you how this would end."_

"_Thank you. Bless you."_

At this last thought, Sherlock's mind suddenly pieced everything together. He had always assumed Moriarty had said those words, _thank you, bless you_, because the criminal had either wanted a way out of life or he was grateful that someone had beaten his game. Those words had always confused Sherlock; they were the one piece of the puzzle that didn't seem to fit. Now though, the consulting detective understood. Moriarty was grateful for Sherlock giving him a way out of his life as a consulting criminal. Sherlock never dreamed that Moriarty would go for a domestic life, but upon reflection, Sherlock realized that years ago, he would have never thought this lifestyle to suit himself.

"Can we go daddy?" Hamish tugged at Sherlock's sleeve. "I want to go home and show you and papa what I made today." Breaking away from his thoughts, Sherlock turned to his son. Seeing the boy look to the other streets of London in excitement reminded the consulting detective of the world that existed now; a world free of Jim Moriarty's web. The detective nodded and the two walked home, Hamish explaining about the solar system and Sherlock actually listening, since he was tired of John's constant teasing.

* * *

"How was school?" Jim asked Richard once they had gotten into the car and were driving to the Moriarty family home. The boy, who was rummaging around in his backpack, said,

"A lot of learning, although I suppose that was rather the point of school," Richard replied, still digging in his pack.

"Did you make any friends?" Jim thought back to Sherlock and the young boy standing by his side. It was uncanny how the child resembled the detective, except for the eyes, John's eyes.

"The boy that we just saw, Hamish, he's really clever," Richard pulled his head out of his rummaging to explain. "We were in class today and he knew a lot of stuff. I knew a lot of stuff too, and whenever the teacher wasn't looking we'd always talk together."

"What about?"

"Anything I guess," Richard continued. "When we got to the science lesson about the solar system Hamish said his daddy, Sherlock, because he's got two he told me just like us, didn't know that the Earth went around the sun. I thought that was funny but I told him not to worry because my daddy doesn't know how to make toast. Isn't that right daddy because you burned it last week?"

At this Jim smiled. So the great detective had his faults as did the criminal.

"I'm still new to it, I suppose," Jim looked back at his son, who smiled.

*He has Sebastian's smile,* Jim thought as he produced an apple from his briefcase. "Here you are son, fresh from the farm."

"Oh boy!" Richard squealed excitedly as he took the fruit and munched on it happily.

"Daddy, do you think Hamish could come over for a play date?" the boy said between bites. Jim considered this, wondering if Sherlock was even handling his son being friends with a Moriarty well. It had been a long time since he had seen the detective; the last encounter being when Jim watched from the shadows as Sherlock and John got married. It really was a beautiful ceremony, and both of them looked so content with life that it inspired Jim to move along with Sebastian. Their own wedding had been a bit chaotic, with the date and the tuxedoes (Westwood of course) and Sebastian having to fulfill contracts right before the ceremony. Still, it was worth it. Sebastian was a perfect husband, always willing to put up with Jim's quirks and eccentric behavior.

"I don't know son," Jim finally stated. "I'll have to ask his father."

"He seemed to recognize you," Richard replied. "Do you know him from somewhere daddy? Does he work with you in your apple farming company"

"I guess you could say we know each other Richie," Jim looked at the road, the memory of driving Sherlock through the very same streets still vivid in his mind. Back then he had only been focused on destroying the detective. Amazing how things came full circle as life moved forward. Here Jim was now, father to an amazing child that had befriended Sherlock's own son.

"I'll be sure to contact him tonight and ask if Hamish wants to come over," Jim suggested, and Richard grinned widely.

"Oh thanks dad! It will be so fun! You can hang out with your friend and I'll hang out with mine!"

At this, Jim cracked a smile. He and Sherlock...friends? Was it even possible?

Only time would tell, Jim supposed, but he had a feeling that when he wasn't trying to kill Sherlock, and when the detective wasn't trying to destroy his vast criminal enterprise, they could possibly be friends.

* * *

That night, Sherlock and John were sitting in the living area of their flat, both equally hesitant about how to approach the current situation.

"Leave it to our son to become friends with the child of Jim Moriarty and his head sniper," John chuckled lightly.

"It actually isn't that surprising," Sherlock fiddled his fingers nervously, hoping John wouldn't get upset.

"Jim Moriarty, father, who would have thought?" John continued. "I suppose we'll being seeing him a bit more frequently."

"The occasional talent show or school assembly I presume," Sherlock replied.

At this, they both started giggling. The idea of any of them going to a school talent show was beyond any of their wildest dreams. Yet here they were, laughing as their son, friends with Richard Moriarty, was asleep in the other bedroom.

It was then that the phone rang, breaking their laughter momentarily. Sherlock eyed John and then the phone, but John didn't budge.

"It's literally a foot from you," the doctor said stubbornly. Sighing, Sherlock picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is the the Holmes' residence?" that voice. His voice.

"I'm surprised you bothered to ask."

"Well it is the polite thing to do."

"You were never one for formalities."

"On the contrary, I believe I was very well-manned during our previous encounters."

"The ones where you tried to blow me up or the ones where you forced me to commit suicide."

At this last statement, John smiled, knowing who was on the other end. While the suicide did strike a chord, reminding the doctor of a very painful part of his life, he was glad that was in the past. And now it seemed that everything was normal; at least the type of normal John had become accustomed to.

"Ah well, that was a long time ago," Jim continued. "You'll be happy to know that my criminal days are over. I run a nice apple company just outside the city."

"And no one minds that your name resembles that of the criminal mastermind Jim Moriarty?"

"Well...in the company I'm known as Jim Moran, so no one minds that much. But I let Richard use my name in the school system, since there are so many Morans and Moriarty is such a unique name. In fact, I was calling on that subject. You can put the phone on speaker since no doubt Johnny boy is listening."

Sherlock took the phone away from his ear and pressed the speaker button.

"I was wondering if Hamish would like to come over to have a play date with Richard. The boy can't stop talking about his friend from school and it would be lovely to show you two Sebastian and my humble house."

There were a million things Sherlock wanted to say; there were endless possibilities to what he could reply. As his past with Moriarty continued to play out forefront in his head, Sherlock wondered if he wanted to develop a future with a strong tie to his former enemy. But Sherlock would never get to say any of the replies he thought up, because it was John who spoke first.

"Well as long as there's no Semtex I'm sure it will be lovely."


	2. Meeting

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this! Sherlock is not my idea and belongs to its rightful and respected owners! Enjoy!

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**Summary:** Moriarty, after kidnapping Mycroft, tells the elder Holmes what his plans for Sherlock are.

**S/M Pairing:** One-sided S/M obsession

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**Meeting**

The room was barely lit, save for a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling directly above Mycroft Holmes' head. The harsh light cast dreary shadows on the man's haggard face. Rats crawled in and out of the dilapidated space freely, making Mycroft sneer in disgust. He wasn't particularly fond of rats. Not only were they not the prettiest things to look upon, but their seedy, underhanded nature was what repulsed him from the creatures. Still, he knew he would have to get used to the vermin sooner or later.

After all, he was in the company of one particular rat, the king of the rats himself.

The ever-lasting silence of Mycroft's cell was broken as the metal door swung open fiercely, colliding with the steel wall and creating a sound that normally Mycroft wouldn't mind, but after being in silence for so long, made him cringe. That noise made him flinch, that and the figure standing in the now open doorway.

Mycroft didn't bother to look up at Moriarty, knowing the criminal would have a big, victorious grin plastered on his crazy features. Instead, the elder Holmes looked straight ahead, trying to show un-interest and boredom. He didn't try to make a lunge for Moriarty either; not only were his hands tied behind his back, but his body was considerably weakened from the time he spent here, and he would easily be beaten.

"Hellooo Mikey!" Moriarty squealed excitedly, slamming the door behind him so it was just the two of them in the small space. Not wanting to upset Moriarty prematurely, Mycroft indulged the other man and responded.

"Jim," his lips hissed out, and grudgingly Mycroft looked up to see the man grinning maliciously, as he had guessed.

"And here I was thinking it'd be difficult in getting you to talk," Moriarty's voice dripping with false gratitude. "I almost feel guilty for being sooo rude to you when you had to interrogate me." Mycroft held his ground, not showing any sign of emotion as he remembered those countless sessions where he was practically begging Moriarty to speak, and would only be rewarded when he spoke of Sherlock.

*More like betrayed Sherlock,* Mycroft thought, but still showed no outer emotion.

"Yes well, I'm afraid small talk is all I'm good for," Mycroft replied. "You can't interrogate me because I don't have anything you want, Jim."

"True, I could kill you at any time," Moriarty sighed, averting his eyes from Mycroft for a moment and getting a distant gaze. Still, it only lasted a second, before the black pits were refocused on the former head of British government. "But that would be soooo boring!"

"Sorry my life bores you," Mycroft spoke darkly, "but then again, everyone bores you."

"_Almost_ everyone," Moriarty responded, his voice light and almost cheery in comparison to Mycroft's solemn tone. "But there is that dear little brother of yours!"

At this, Mycroft's brow furrowed, and the elder Holmes did not care what emotions he portrayed to Moriarty. Sherlock was his one care in life, his one worry, and unfortunately, his one weakness. Even though the two of them had a long and painful history, in the end Mycroft loved his brother in ways he couldn't quite understand. He loved him as much as he was capable of loving another human.

"Do stay away from Sherlock," Mycroft stated, deathly calm.

"Ah, there you go again, so calm yet dangerous..._Iceman_," Moriarty began to walk slowly around Mycroft's chair, like a lion circling its prey. Mycroft looked straight ahead again, trying not to show his inner worry on his outside. "I'm sure Irene told you about my nickname for you. And my name for Sherlock..."

"He's not your pet you get to name," Mycroft replied.

Suddenly, two hands clamped down on his shoulders, fingernails piercing through the thin shirt he had been given to wear and drawing blood. Mycroft cringed visibly, but said nothing as he felt the consultant criminal bend down slowly until his lips were next to the elder Holmes' ear.

"Not yet."

For a moment, there was absolute silence as Moriarty's last word escaped his lips. In the silence, Mycroft could hear his own heart beating furiously when he registered the madman's words, and he could feel the desire behind Moriarty's ominous threat.

Without a word, Moriarty swiped at the legs of Mycroft's chair, toppling it and sending Mycroft to the floor painfully. Mycroft could hear his own skull crack sickeningly as it made contact with the metal floor, and he allowed himself a small cry of pain. Still, the blow could have been a lot worse. He wouldn't sustain any permanent injuries from the hit. At least not this one.

"That's where you fail, Mycroft," Moriarty's voice was venomous now, all false cheer wiped from it. "You care for your dear baby brother, yet you never show it to him. You never trust him. Up until now you believed that you were his equal and his _only_ equal. You didn't think that you had any competition in being close to Sherlock's genius, which is why you distanced yourself from him just enough so you could keep watch on him without getting your hands dirty and having to reconcile your past."

"Don't flatter yourself," Mycroft spoke, still calm. "I may not be as smart as him, but neither are you. And we both know that, don't we Jim?"

Now Mycroft was picked up and hauled with the chair so that he was staring directly into Moriarty's eyes again. So many emotions filled the criminal's usually vacant eyes that Mycroft was actually stunned, and a small smile formed on his lips.

"It must bother you," Mycroft continued. "All this money, all this power, and you're not one step closer to my brother then when you started this little game. The one thing you want, is the one thing you can't have."

"I will break him," Moriarty hissed dangerously. "I will destroy Sherlock inch by inch, and once I am finished, I will recreate him. I will be king of the world, and he will be my queen. Together we will reign, and the game will be finished. You thought Sherlock and I were opponents? On the contrary, we are allies. It is him and me against the world, even if he doesn't know it yet."

"And how do you intend on doing all of that?" Mycroft replied, a little unnerved by the confidence in Moriarty's tone.

"Oh that's for me to know, but I do need your help," Moriarty smiled. "You see, your previous bits of information on Sherlock were sooo useful. I think if you were to share some more with me, they would prove useful in breaking your dear brother."

"And what makes you think I'll tell you anything?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows tauntingly.

"Oh, I'll just kill you if you refuse," Moriarty shrugged before dropping Mycroft and his chair onto the floor so that Mycroft was in his original position of sitting in the upright chair. "And if for some reason you find yourself feeling valiant, I'll make you watch as I kill one hundred other people, if you don't tell me what I want to hear."

At this, Mycroft frowned and looked at the ground, cursing Moriarty's power over everyone in England.

"I'll be back later Mikey!" Moriarty's cheer resumed as he opened the door and stepped outside of the cell, giving Mycroft one last deranged look. "I do hope, for the world's sake, that you'll have something delightfully interesting about Sherlock to tell me!"


End file.
